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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27021964">Irezumi</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent'>manic_intent</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dark!Akira, M/M, That AU where Akira is a living weapon, and Iwai is his wielder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:21:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27021964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kumicho,” Iwai Munehisa said, bowing respectfully as he entered the audience room. Styled with shoji screens and tatami mats, with katanas displayed against the walls between priceless ceramic vases, the space reflected the Nagoshi clan’s generations-old grasp on power in Tokyo.  </p><p>Standing beside one of the weapon racks, the current oyabun of the clan glanced over at Iwai with an unreadable stare. Yokoyama Yayoi had recently taken over as oyabun after the assassination of her husband since her son was still a teen. It was meant to be temporary, but Yayoi didn’t act that way—something that was causing tension in the traditionally near-completely male yakuza clan. Iwai hadn’t bothered getting involved in gossip. To him, one oyabun was the same as another, whether a vicious old man in a suit or a hard-eyed woman who preferred silk kimonos.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwai Munehisa/Kurusu Akira</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Irezumi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/gifts">plingo_kat</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Donation prompt by plingo_kat, who asked for more Akira/Iwai or more Kibkab. I’ve just played a few of the Yakuza games (0, Kiwami, Kiwami 2) so I was in the mood to write more Yakuza-esque things, so here is a somewhat more Yakuza/Pokemon dark take on the Persona system. </p><p>The version of Akira in this story is p much the one you see when you awaken Arsene for the first time: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3LvR8nJHEk</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Kumicho,” Iwai Munehisa said, bowing respectfully as he entered the audience room. Styled with shoji screens and tatami mats, with katanas displayed against the walls between priceless ceramic vases, the space reflected the Nagoshi clan’s generations-old grasp on power in Tokyo.  </p><p>Standing beside one of the weapon racks, the current oyabun of the clan glanced over at Iwai with an unreadable stare. Yokoyama Yayoi had recently taken over as oyabun after the assassination of her husband since her son was still a teen. It was meant to be temporary, but Yayoi didn’t act that way—something that was causing tension in the traditionally near-completely male yakuza clan. Iwai hadn’t bothered getting involved in gossip. To him, one oyabun was the same as another, whether a vicious old man in a suit or a hard-eyed woman who preferred silk kimonos. </p><p>Besides, Iwai liked Yayoi. Her brusqueness meant he didn’t have to waste time on small talk. “I heard you turned down two offers to start your own subsidiary family,” Yayoi said. </p><p>“I’m content with my current role in the clan,” Iwai said. Becoming a family patriarch would mean responsibilities, tithe quotas, and politics—all things that Iwai had no interest in. </p><p>“The Nagoshi clan’s most successful kuromaku.” When Iwai did not comment, Yayoi said, “I also heard that you briefly considered leaving the clan.” </p><p>“Would’ve been a mistake.” The orphaned baby Iwai had found had reached for something deep in his soul that Iwai had thought long severed, and for a moment Iwai had been tempted to keep the boy. Leave the clan, eke out a living as a civilian. The temptation had passed. He had no skills beyond what he did for the clan. Nor did Iwai think that the clan would let him leave so easily. </p><p>Yayoi pursed her lips. “An impulse that often strikes people now and then. It isn’t always a mistake.”</p><p>Was this meeting a question about loyalty? “Kumicho,” Iwai began, but Yayoi held up a palm.</p><p>“When I was young,” Yayoi said, looking distant, “this was not the life I wanted for my son. A violent life, one with a high chance of him dying before he could even get old. A life that would curse any children he might have with the same life, one sketched out in cycles of violence.” </p><p>“Can’t have been avoided,” Iwai said, growing uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to high command divesting personal details to him—his past visits to clan HQ had always been for the occasional ceremony. Even his assignments were usually assigned remotely. </p><p>“Would you support his eventual rise to the position of kumicho?” Yayoi asked, staring keenly at Iwai. </p><p>This was about loyalty after all, if in a different way. “I will serve the kumicho of the clan,” Iwai said, picking his words with care. “Whoever that might be.” </p><p>“Hah.” Yayoi’s lips curled into a mirthless smile. “Honest as always.” She clapped sharply. Iwai flinched, even as one of the staff slid open a shoji door and walked in, presenting Yayoi with an unadorned black lacquer case. She handed it to Iwai. “I presume that you know what this is.” </p><p>Iwai opened the case. A tanto nestled in velvet, sheathed in black and red. Lighter than it should be. A faint purplish glow escaped from the edge of the scabbard, betraying the ‘blade’ for what it was. “This… a weaponised Persona shard?” </p><p>“Use it. Think of it as a reward for your years of service to the clan.” Yayoi made a dismissive wave and looked aways Iwai closed the case, bowed, and left.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>#</p>
</div>“What did the kumicho want?” Tsuda asked as they sat down for a drink in a small bar within the Champion’s district.<p>Iwai picked up his glass of whiskey and pushed the case over to Tsuda. Tsuda opened it, gasped, closed it sharply and shoved it back. “Surely you don’t need something like that,” Tsuda said. </p><p>“Nah.” The number of weaponised Persona-users had been steadily increasing among even yakuza grunts, given the increasing proliferation of black-market versions of the military-grade tech. Iwai wouldn’t touch those even if he were paid a million yen—there were specialised hospitals for Persona users whose syncs had gone horrifically awry. Still, for some, the desire to get stronger outweighed the risks. </p><p>“HQ wouldn’t give you anything that wasn’t legit.” </p><p>“I know.” If anything, the Nagoshi clan’s standing would take a hit if something were to happen to Iwai, and Yayoi was standing on shaky ground right now. No secret that the most powerful patriarchs of the subsidiary families were angling for her position, and the assassination that had taken out her husband had also decimated the Yokoyama family’s retainers. </p><p>“Having second thoughts?” Tsuda asked, lowering his voice. It’d been Tsuda who had counselled Iwai to stay after the incident with the child. Outlined all the ways trying to leave the clan could go wrong—not just for Iwai but for the boy. </p><p>“Nah,” Iwai said, drinking. The whiskey tasted smooth on his tongue, warming his throat. “I’ll sync with it tonight.”</p><p>“Need company?” </p><p>Iwai shook his head. “Phone me at midnight. If I don’t answer the phone, call an ambulance,” Iwai said. He smiled thinly as Tsuda winced. Iwai drained the glass and got up, picking up the case. </p><p>Home was a small apartment just outside the hotels district, near a park. Iwai didn’t ask for much by way of personal luxury: all he wanted was a place that was quiet, convenient, and with at least one emergency exit. He sat cross-legged before the TV, watching the news while he ate a heated-up bento from the konbini around the block and washed it down with a beer. Checking the time, Iwai took a slow breath and sat against the wall, stripping off his shirt. The irezumi he wore needed touching up: the tiger had faded against his back, and the patterns over his shoulders and chest were turning a discoloured green and grey. </p><p>Iwai opened the case, drawing the tanto from its scabbard. The ‘blade’ glowed eagerly in the energy-saving light of Iwai’s apartment, a seething stream of purple unreality that only vaguely resembled a dagger. Wadding a clean piece of cloth between his teeth, Iwai bit down and plunged the blade into his heart.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>#</p>
</div>A ringtone startled Iwai out of unconsciousness. He groaned, trying to sit up, groping wildly toward the sound. The phone nudged against his hand as Iwai opened his eyes, only to freeze. A pretty young man in outlandish clothes smiled at Iwai from behind a jagged mask, handing him the phone. Pistols hung at his slender hips, and his black cloak smudged into unreality, the lining shifting uncomfortably under the naked eye. With his tousled hair, large eyes, cravat and high boots, the Persona looked more like a cosplayer or a Harajuku regular than what he was—a living weapon.<p>Iwai picked up the phone only out of sheer habit. It was Tsuda, who sounded anxious. “Munehisa? You there?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Iwai said in a hoarse voice. “Shit.” He checked the phone. Just past midnight. </p><p>“Everything all right?”</p><p>“Yeah. Talk later. Thanks for checkin’ in.” Iwai hung up before Tsuda could ask any questions, rubbing a hand over his face and sitting back up and glancing down at his chest. The shard had sealed into his skin, leaving only a faint pale line of purple light scarred against the irezumi. The tanto’s hilt lay on his lap. Iwai set it back in the box, clearing his throat as the Persona went down on one knee. “Uh, so. Hey, you got a name?” </p><p>“No. Call me whatever you like, Owner-sama.” The Persona smiled playfully, though there was a reserved cast to his eyes. </p><p>“Firstly. Please don’t call me that. ‘Iwai’ will do.” Iwai looked blearily around the room, casting about for inspiration. His eyes lit on the television, which was fatalistically covering an upcoming Western adaptation of Otomo’s classic 1982 manga. “What about Akira? For a name.” </p><p>“As you wish, Iwai-sama.” </p><p>This was going to take more getting used to than he thought. “I need another beer.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>#</p>
</div>Having always worked alone, Iwai wasn’t sure what to do with a Persona. He’d faced opponents who wielded them before, but powerful as the Personas could be, their magic wasn’t usually potent enough to protect their users against a well-placed bullet fired from a high-powered rifle at long range. He did his next job without invoking Akira, then the next. As he stripped off to shower after the hit, tossing his shirt into a laundry basket, Akira said, “Iwai-sama, is there something about me that you don’t like?”<p>Iwai flinched, then yelped as he smacked his hip against the sink. He glanced into the mirror. Akira stood in the doorway of the cramped bathroom, leaning against the frame. He smiled his playful smile, always unsettlingly offset by the hard gaze behind his mask. “What do you mean?” Iwai asked. </p><p>“You don’t write, you don’t call…” Akira stepped lightly over to the sink, picking up Iwai’s normal tanto from where he’d left it nudged up against the squished tube of toothpaste. “Don’t you know what to do with a Persona?” </p><p>Akira’s words toed the edge of impudence, even as he made a show of lowering his gaze in deference. “You want somethin’ from me?” Iwai asked, wary. </p><p>“I’m a weapon. I don’t want anything,” Akira said, pulling out part of the tanto to inspect the blade. </p><p>Iwai grabbed it from him, sheathing the tanto and setting it back on the sink. “I don’t need a Persona. Just didn’t want to offend my boss.” </p><p>“She would’ve allowed you to refuse had you decided to—she said that to a retainer before you arrived.”</p><p>“You heard that?” </p><p>“I hear a lot of things. That case wasn’t soundproof.” Akira trailed his fingertips over Iwai’s shoulders, his skin feverishly warm. Unsettled, Iwai went still instead of brushing Akira off, even as Akira tickled his fingers down to the embedded shard over Iwai’s heart. </p><p>Iwai grabbed Akira’s wrist. Trying to move the hand off him felt like Iwai was trying to push a wall, then Akira’s hand went limp, allowing Iwai to shift him. “What are you playin’ at?” Iwai growled. </p><p>Akira pouted—a surprisingly cute look on something meant to be a reality-bending living weapon. “I thought life would finally be more interesting with a kuromaku for an owner.” </p><p>“Oh? Thought you didn’t want anythin’.” Before Akira could speak, Iwai muttered, “Look. I’m used to workin’ alone.” </p><p>“You still are. I’m just like your tanto. Or a gun.” </p><p>“My tanto doesn’t talk back to me.” </p><p>“If you wish me to be quiet—”</p><p>“Didn’t say that.” Iwai exhaled. “Just. Fine. You bored? Lemme shower and get changed. Move. Outside the bathroom,” he said, when Akira didn’t move. </p><p>“You shower and get changed in front of your tanto and clothes,” Akira said, though he grinned in mischief. </p><p>“Not the same. <i>Out</i>.” Iwai shooed Akira out of the bathroom and shut the door in his face. Nominally alone, he looked at the pale purple seam in his skin through his reflection in the mirror and rubbed a hand over his face. What <i>had</i> he gotten himself into? </p><p>Domestic Personas were growing commercially popular, especially the nonhuman ones, which could double up as pets that didn’t need feeding or walking. Even so, Iwai had Akira change his mask into a pair of spectacles, and his cravat into a scarf. Now Akira drew far less attention—or the wrong sort of attention. His pretty face drew curious, covetous looks from passers-by, looks that went from Akira to Iwai’s scowl and dropped away. </p><p>Akira noticed. Iwai stiffened as Akira hooked his arm around Iwai’s, smiling teasingly. “Neh, Iwai-sama, where are we going?” </p><p>“Don’t call me that in public. Tch.” Iwai shrugged Akira off. “Dinner. Can you eat?” </p><p>“I can fake it,” Akira said, “though I won’t taste anything.” </p><p>“Fake it, then.” Iwai walked them down a few blocks until they reached his favourite post-work place: a smoky underground yakitori bar with no menu, no tourists, and no questions asked. As a regular, Iwai got seated quickly. Akira looked around with open curiosity as Iwai motioned for two servings of his usual, with shochu to wash it down. Even at the late hour, close to midnight, the bar was almost full. Handful of salarymen and a scattering of other regulars. Iwai ignored them all, his mouth itching for a cigarette. </p><p>Akira faked eating extremely well—he ate with delicacy and grace, even humming with pleasure at each perfectly glazed bite. “Good?” Iwai couldn’t help asking, even though he knew Akira wouldn’t know.</p><p>“Good,” Akira said enthusiastically. “The best.” </p><p>“Tch.” Iwai dipped a skewer of the lusciously juicy house tsukune into the yolk, biting into it. </p><p>Tempted to steal Akira’s, he frowned instead as the chef walked over with a smile. “Haven’t seen you bring anyone here before, Iwai-san,” the chef said. </p><p>“He’s my…” Iwai trailed off. </p><p>“Iwai-san is my boss,” Akira said, with such a guileless, perky smile that the chef laughed. </p><p>“Oya? I didn’t know that you were running a business,” said the chef, glancing at Iwai. </p><p>“This and that,” Iwai said, wondering what had broken the usually taciturn way the yakitori joint treated him. </p><p>“I’m new and need to improve more quickly, but I’m learning a lot,” Akira said. To Iwai’s surprise, Akira fell to chatting with the chef, even drawing the chef’s wife over in between serving customers. When it was time to go, they were laughing together as though they’d known each other for years. Bemused, Iwai paid up, agreed to bring Akira again, and stared at the Persona as he emerged into the chilly night. </p><p>“What?” Akira asked. His playful, guileless smile faded. </p><p>“Not what I expected,” Iwai said. </p><p>Akira cocked his head as they made their way back to Iwai’s apartment. “Which part?”</p><p>“You fakin’ bein’ able to eat, sure. The rest? Didn’t think you could. Aren’t you a program?”</p><p>“Iwai-sama,” Akira said, the hard gleam returning to his eyes, “how exactly do you think a Persona is made?” </p><p>“Don’t know,” Iwai admitted. He’d never bothered learning much about Personas beyond what they could do. “You’re an AI, yeah?” </p><p>“Not in the way that you think. We’re closer to ghosts. The psychic impression of dogs and cats, for the nonhuman ones. For the rest of us…” Akira trailed off, holding up his hands to the stars. “Almost human enough to be useful, but not human enough to be human.” </p><p>Iwai shivered. He said nothing on the rest of the walk home, and Akira disappeared as Iwai unlocked the door. Alone in his flat, it felt colder than usual.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>#</p>
</div>“Is the Persona not to your liking?” Yayoi asked once Iwai was shown into her office within the clan HQ. Bright and modern, it was a far cry from the audience room.<p>“There’s nothin’ wrong with him,” Iwai said, surprised at the question. </p><p>“You haven’t been using it.” </p><p>“I didn’t shut him down or anythin’.” Iwai generally let Akira manifest whenever he wanted to. Just not during a job—Iwai didn’t like surprises when he was working. </p><p>“A Persona doesn’t need to eat, nor does it need to be amused. I didn’t give you a Persona so that you’d have a dining companion.” </p><p>“Don’t need Akira for work.” The work that Iwai did could be done without a Persona, and having one didn’t change that. Besides, unsettling as it’d been at the start, Iwai had grown used to having Akira around whenever he went out to eat, or to the arcade, or went bowling or batting. If anything, Akira’s weirdly personable attitude had been getting Iwai better service from staff than he’d ever enjoyed. </p><p>Yayoi frowned at him. “Akira, hm? Getting attached? It’s a Persona. A weapon, not another human,” Yayoi said.</p><p>“Hard not to be attached,” Iwai said, patting his jacket meaningfully over where the shard was embedded in his chest. “I—”</p><p>A whistling sound had Iwai diving belatedly for Yayoi, to pull her down under cover or get in the way of the bullet. Akira manifested first. The bullet flattened in the air before him, suspended in mid-air for a heartbeat before falling and getting lost in the plush carpet. Iwai got hold of Yayoi moments later, dragging her out of sight of the windows as she gasped.</p><p>“Assassin?” Yayoi gasped, pale and furious. “Who dares?” </p><p>“Iwai-sama, I see them,” Akira said, his gaze fixed on a distant roof. “May I?” </p><p>Iwai drew his tanto from his belt. “Give me their description and I’ll—”</p><p>Yayoi grabbed his wrist. “You have a Persona. <i>Use it</i>.” She glared at Akira. “Go! Get them!” </p><p>Akira ignored her, staring calmly at Iwai. At his slow nod, Akira smiled. He opened the window, making an impossible jump for an adjacent roof. Iwai hustled Yayoi to the door, keeping her head down. He nearly stabbed the guards beyond as they poured in. Yayoi took over, shouting orders. As they retreated deeper into clan HQ with Iwai standing protectively beside her, Yayoi said, “Might be the same people who killed my husband.” She glowered at Iwai. “I thought you finished the job.” </p><p>Iwai accepted the rebuke in silence, keeping his peace until Yayoi was safely moved to the panic room. Only then did Iwai sprint back through the twisting defensive turns of the HQ building, heading for the car park. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late to watch up with Akira. </p><p>Akira sat on Iwai’s black Kawasaki bike with a demure smile that widened as Iwai approached. “Iwai-sama.”</p><p>“Did you catch whoever it was?” Iwai asked, slowing down. </p><p>“Catch?” Akira frowned. “Ano… if you wanted him alive, you should have said so.” </p><p>“How are we supposed to find out who the hitman’s working for if he’s dead?” </p><p>“There are other ways.” Akira got up, stalking closer. His eyes blazed as he stroked gloved hands up Iwai’s chest, curling them lightly around his throat as he leaned in with a toothy smile. “Iwai-sama, I like you. I treasure the time we’ve spent together. Anyone who dares to take that from me—I’ll kill them all.” </p><p>“Akira,” Iwai said, disoriented by Akira’s viciously fey mood, only to stiffen as Akira leaned up and kissed him, his lips hot on Iwai’s mouth.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>#</p>
</div>The running shower woke Iwai from a shallow sleep. He blinked awake, then coughed at the mingled scent of steam and coppery blood. Stumbling over to the open bathroom door, Iwai gawked. Akira stood under the showerhead, staring unblinkingly up into the hot spray as it sluiced blood off his hair and clothes, pooling it into muddy rivulets against the tiles. Akira turned as Iwai let out a soft gasp, his beautiful face unnaturally still save for an unreadable curl to his mouth. A monster with a Mona Lisa smile.<p>“Akira…” Somehow, Iwai took a step forward instead of back. “Are you all right? Not injured? Why the fuck did you do whatever you just did without me?” </p><p>Akira blinked. The strange tension he wore faded. He smiled playfully instead, with the easy warmth he now sometimes wore in Iwai’s presence. “Ah, Iwai-sama. Sorry if I woke you up.” </p><p>“Answer the question,” Iwai said, walking closer and into the spray. Akira frowned but allowed Iwai to strip off his soaked coat, the water pressing his shirt to his skin. </p><p>“You don’t need to do that,” Akira said as Iwai hung the coat up to dry on a hook. “I can turn it dry if I want.”</p><p>“So what are you doing standin’ in the shower like this?” Iwai asked. </p><p>“You do it every time you kill. I was wondering what the draw was,” Akira said. He chuckled as Iwai huffed and turned the water off. “Iwai-sama. Don’t I frighten you?” </p><p>“Should you?” Iwai reached for the ratty towel at the door and paused as Akira caught hold of his wrists. </p><p>“I’m not human,” Akira said, looking searchingly into Iwai’s eyes. </p><p>“So?” </p><p>“And yet,” Akira said, as though to himself, “it’s nice. Being treated as human.” </p><p>“That’s—” Iwai tensed up as Akira pressed him to the wet tiles, leaning up for another demanding kiss. He’d thought the kiss in the car park an anomaly, given Akira had acted afterwards as though it hadn’t happened. A glitch, maybe. </p><p>This didn’t feel like one, with Akira whimpering as he pulled at Iwai’s shirt, hauling it off and tossing it aside. Not with Akira running his gaze greedily over Iwai’s irezumi, tracing details with his fingertips, then with his mouth. Iwai shivered as Akira brushed too-warm kisses down winding petals, over to a nipple, tonguing off the water, licking him dry. Down to his soaked track pants and underwear, pulling them past Iwai’s hips as Akira went down onto his knees. </p><p>“Akira,” Iwai said, uncertain. “You don’t… have to do somethin’ like this to please me.” </p><p>“I’m not doing this to please you,” Akira said, glancing up with a smile of faux innocence. “After all, you’ve made it quite clear that you don’t care whether I please you.” Before Iwai could respond to that, Akira kissed the tip of his cock, then took the stiffening length into his mouth. Iwai gasped, his hands clenching up against the tiles. Akira didn’t have a gag reflex. He drank Iwai down with a low, vibrating purr, until his nose pressed against the curls at the base of Iwai’s cock. </p><p>“Warm,” Iwai gasped, panting. Akira’s mouth was a touch too warm, too alien. Wasn’t as yielding or as wet as a human mouth. Lust pulsed through Iwai anyway, especially as Akira tugged at him, urging Iwai to move. He made an impatient noise as Iwai tried a tentative thrust, then rumbled in satisfaction as Iwai snapped his hips deeper. Iwai curled his fingers into Akira’s unruly hair and took him the way he was demanding to be taken, roughly and without mercy. His breaths stuttered into groans, then into wounded gasping cries, echoing around the tiny bathroom. Neighbours were probably going to complain. Akira took it all, scratching at Iwai’s thighs, sucking at him, throat working until with a shout Iwai emptied himself into the unnatural heat. </p><p>Catching his breath, Iwai pulled Akira to his feet, reaching for his belt. Akira smiled, shaking his head. He kissed Iwai before Iwai could protest, soft, lazy kisses until Iwai went quiet against the tiles. “You should get dry before you catch a cold,” Akira said. His voice wasn’t even hoarse. </p><p>“Right.” Iwai stepped out of his wet clothes and dried himself off, dressing in fresh clothes. By the time he was done, Akira was dry, sitting primly on the floor beside Iwai’s futon. </p><p>Iwai sat beside him. “Do I wanna know what you did tonight in my name?” </p><p>“Probably not,” Akira said, though he smiled. </p><p>“Was it necessary?”</p><p>“I believe so.” </p><p>“Hai.” Iwai rubbed a hand over his face. No helping it then—not with Akira so close, not as his sharp, challenging smile melted into something closer to tenderness. “That yakitori bar should still be open. Want somethin’ to eat?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>twitter: @manic_intent<br/>donation prompt policy, writing process, original work/book: manicintent.carrd.co</p></blockquote></div></div>
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